


Elysian

by pythiaspledge



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Magic, Slow Burn, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pythiaspledge/pseuds/pythiaspledge
Summary: Tired of her job at the infamous Joja Corporation, an aspiring farmer claims ownership of her late Grandfather’s homestead… and gets much more than she bargains for.The Wizard/Female Farmer





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfic in a while... There just needed to be more love for the wizard, so I figured I'd give it a go once again!

**THE FARMER**

Despite being the dead of winter, the office’s air conditioner sputtered to life. The temperature of the stale air in the cubicle dropped dramatically and Hazel’s fingers paused mid-type, her hands hovering just above her outdated keyboard. Her breath swirled in front of her eyes.

From a few cubicles over, a voice called out. “It’s gotten’ more quiet in here… Sounds like someone’s not workin’!” In the otherwise dull hum of the AC and clicking keys, the voice’s fake country accent and unordinary high levels of enthusiasm stood in contrast to the somber sound of work. The voice hooted, the accompanying rattling sound suggesting the owner of said voice was the same employee who littered his desk with half-full pill bottles and empty soda cans. “I’m one step closer to being employee of the month!”

“EMPLOYEE 5B-3,” a crackly voice poured from some hidden speaker. “PLEASE DO NOT DISRUPT YOUR FELLOW EMPLOYEES. REMEMBER: SILENCE IS GOLDEN! RETURN TO WORK.” Both voices fell into silence, and the work environment settled back into normalcy.

Hazel’s hands slid over her arms, holding herself tight to fight back a shiver. Management had sworn that cold temperatures would help increase productivity by keeping employees awake. When Hazel had suggested to her manager that they instead give employees reasonable working hours so that they could get a full night’s sleep, she had almost been fired. Her manager was furious at the accusation. Or, at least, she had assumed he was. She had never seen him when he was not smiling. Sometimes, it seemed as though the Joja Corporation had plastered the faces of managers into the off-putting grin they all permanently sported. She wouldn’t put it past them.

Hazel sighed. Another swirl of warm breath danced in the air, and she watched it until it faded away. Working for the Joja Corporation was soul-crushing. Long hours, little pay, and if she were to be honest she was not even entirely sure what her job even was. Most days she just sat in front of a screen, typing in whatever numbers or words she was prompted to by the unnecessarily complex computer program that dictated how she spent her working hours. She was nothing but an object to her employer, a thing with the ability to punch keys in the proper order needed in order to turn a profit.

Hazel hated it.

She needed to leave. How? She needed money, and the war with the Gotoro Empire wasn’t doing much to encourage job growth. Then, she remembered. The letter.

Speaker static interrupted her thoughts. “EMPLOYEE 2B-3, YOU HAVE BEEN IDLE FOR TWO MINUTES. YOU HAVE THREE MINUTES UNTIL MANAGEMENT IS INFORMED. PLEASE RETURN TO WORK.”

She rolled her eyes. Employee 2B-3 can do whatever she wants, she thought. Ignoring the threat, Hazel pulled on the cold metal of a drawer handle and rifled through her desk until she found what she looked for – a small envelope, white as snow, with her name messily written in black ink. The letter was sealed with purple wax, which itself was stamped with a pattern so intricate that it was hypnotizing. Curved, organic imprints swirled around what looked like an apple. When stared at for too long, the design appeared to move and dance like tree branches in the breeze. Hazel slid her finger under the fold of the envelope and under the wax, the violet stamp unusually warm under her touch. The whole letter seemed as though it had begun to vibrate and Hazel shivered as the wax separated itself from the paper, though she presumed the sensations must simply be due to the mix of the chill and her anticipation.

This letter had been a constant in her life. She had never lost it, and had begun to assume it was impossible for her to. Whenever she thought she had walked away from the missive, she would find it had actually been in her coat pocket or deep within her purse the whole time. Always on her person or somewhere close by. It was also the last thing she had of her grandfather, his last gift to her. A gift only to be opened if modern life had crushed her. If that description did not apply to her current lot in life, she supposed it never would.

The speaker crackled another warning directed at her. She had one minute.

Folding open the unusually soft parchment, Hazel smiled fondly at the almost unintelligible handwriting of her late grandfather. She began to read.

_If you're reading this, you must be in dire need of a change. The same thing happened to me, long ago. I'd lost sight of what mattered most in life... real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong. I’ve enclosed the deed to that place… My pride and joy: Elysian Farm. It’s located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It’s the perfect place to start your new life. This was my most precious gift of all, and now it’s yours. I know you’ll honor the family name, my girl. Good luck, and stay safe._

_Love, Grandpa_

Somewhere, a static-filled voice informed her a manager was coming to check on her, but she did not care. A farm… When did grandpa have a farm? She had no memory of Elysian, nor had her father ever mentioned it. No matter, she thought to herself. This was her escape. Her way out of the torture that was corporate employment.

As the sharp click of her manager’s shoes echoed down the corridor, her mind swam with thoughts of Stardew Valley. She had never heard of the place, and her stomach flopped with excitement over the prospect of this new adventure. “Employee 2B-3!” Hazel looked up from her letter, her gaze meeting cold eyes and an angry smile. She licked her chapped lips, the words she had wanted to say for so long dancing on her tongue. “According to our program, you have been inactive fo-”

Hazel smiled genuinely and interrupted.

“I quit!”

* * *

**THE WIZARD**

Despite being the dead of winter, the tower filled with a sudden and unexpected warmth. Rasmodius snapped to attention, setting aside the almost comically large tome he had been engrossed in with a loud thud. Outside his tower, the winter wind howled and snowflakes bleached the forest floor white with their presence. Otherwise, all was silent.

He stood quickly, the sudden presence of magic causing the room to vibrate with arcane energy. He remembered this spell. It had been cast so many years ago that an average mortal may have let its existence slip into the fog of memories past, but no such thing happened to him. A spell of his, once cast, was never forgotten.

The heat, however, had not been an anticipated side-effect.

Crossing the room with long strides, he flew towards his bookshelf and grabbed a small locked box that had been carefully positioned between stacks of hand-written journals he had been unable to decipher. Blowing dust off the plain wooden box, he gently swiped his hand over the sigil which kept the container closed to all but him. The lid silently swung open. Inside was a small envelope, white as snow.

Rasmodius gingerly picked up the parchment and ran his hand over the front side where a stamp would normally be placed, though in this case was completely blank. Flipping the envelope over, he looked at the purple seal. The envelope was open, though empty. A drawing of a lone junimo danced wildly and joyfully in the swirl of organic lines that had been stamped onto the purple wax, and a quick swipe of his thumb over the opened seal told him that the charm was the source of the warmth that had filled his home. The contract was fulfilled, then. Good, he wanted to think. The land was ill, and the land required it. Nevertheless, he could not help but feel a twinge of pity deep within himself for the poor soul who had agreed to such terms.

With a sigh, he locked the box again and placed the container back on the shelf before pulling out other thick tomes from the overly-filled shelves. He would need time to prepare for them. They would as well, he mused as he settled back into his chair.

Slowly, the warmth in the tower faded, and the blizzard outside calmed to a flurry before stopping entirely. Everything was still, as if the forest was holding its breath in anticipation.

While Rasmodius would not admit it, there were times where he was, as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**THE FARMER**

Tall grey office buildings and drab apartment complexes flew past the window as the bus drove through the city streets. The ride to the valley had been a long one – three hours to Zuzu city, and now two hours to reach Pelican town.

Hazel shifted uncomfortably in her hard seat, trying her best to stretch her legs without accidentally kicking any of the other people on the overly-crowded bus. Next to her, a woman on her cell phone bragged enthusiastically about her daughter’s recent raise. A man in front of Hazel was trying to calm a wailing baby. Somewhere in the back, a group of tipsy college students chatted and cheered about an upcoming girdball game. The air was warm and stuffy, and smelled strongly of sweat. Hazel held tighter onto her backpack, which contained all the possessions she had not already sold, and pulled it closer to her chest. She had never been terribly fond of crowds. There was something overwhelming about them... No freedom, no fresh air, just people packed like sardines.

Taking a deep breath to center herself, Hazel pressed her face against the window. She watched the similar buildings pass by, blending together into steaks of grey dotted with colorful neon signs. She closed her eyes. Before long, sleep consumed her.

Her sleep was deep and dreamless. It was restful. That was, until a soft voice roused her.

_“It seems you have finally arrived.”_

Hazel opened her eyes and straightening up in her seat. The bus had been so loud when she had begun her nap, so it seemed strange that such a hushed voice had awoken her. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Hazel looked beside herself and expected to see the owner of the voice. Only, the chatty woman was gone. She heard no baby, nor any college students (drunk or otherwise). Where was everyone? How long had she been asleep? A feeling of unease crept into her gut.

Sliding across the bus seat and sticking her head into the aisle, Hazel looked around the bus. No one was there besides her and the bus driver. Was she just dreaming being talked to?

She called out to the driver. “Excuse me?” She waited a few moments. No response. “Excuse me!” She shouted.

The driver shifted in his seat, taking out an earbud Hazel hadn’t seen. She could hear the pop music pouring from the headphone. No wonder he hadn’t heard her. He shouted his response, even louder than Hazel had been. “What!? What did ya’ need!?”

“Did you say something to me just now?”

“I said, ‘What did ya’ need’!”

“No, I mean, what did you say before that?”

“I said, ‘what’!”

Hazel groaned. “And what did you say before _that_?”

“I said we’ve finally arrived in the valley!” The bus driver began to put his earbud back in. “It shouldn’t be long now until we reach Pelican Town!”

The man seemed much too loud to be the voice she heard, but she supposed she must have been him. That, or she had dreamt it. She tried to push it from her mind, but couldn’t shake an ever-increasing feeling of being watched. She shivered.

Hazel slumped back into her seat and slid over to the window. The maze-like city streets she had fallen asleep to had been replaced with brilliantly green grass and rolling hills as far as she could see. Crawling onto her knees, she opened the window as much as it would allow. Fresh air poured through the small crack, bringing with it the smell of the sea. Excitement bubbled within her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the ocean, let alone stepped in fresh, clear water… In the city, the waterways were crowded with litter and refuse.

Before long the bus pulled to a stop. The driver loudly announced that they were at Pelican town. Gathering her few belongings, Hazel made her way to the front of the vehicle. The bus driver pushed a button and the door opened with a swish. “Have a good one!” The man yelled at her.

“You too,” Hazel returned.

Just as she was about to exit, Hazel shivered once more. The feeling of being watched was back. She craned her head towards the empty bus seats as she descended the stairs, searching once more for the source of the feeling. Distracted as she was, she didn’t notice when she almost ran head-first into someone waiting just outside the vehicle. “Hello!” A new voice called out. “You must be Hazel.”

“Ah!” Hazel jumped at the voice, gripping tighter onto her backpack. In front of her stood a tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged woman. Her strikingly orange shoulder-length hair was pulled into a half-ponytail, and she smiled gently. Hazel’s cheeks warmed. The first person she met in the valley and she had introduced herself by screaming in their face. Things were going off to a great start.

“I’m Robin,” the tall woman said, her lips twitching upwards in an obvious attempt to suppress a laugh. She offered her hand. Hazel took it. Robin’s hand was warm and heavily calloused, her handshake firm. “I’m the local carpenter.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hazel returned the shake. “I’m Hazel, the new farmer. But you, uh… Already knew that.”

Robin released her hand. “Mayor Lewis sent me here to show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for our arrival. The farm’s not far from here, it’s just a short walk in that direction.” She motioned to her left. There was a path, lined with beautiful green trees and dotted with spring flowers. “If you’ll follow me,” she turned on her heels and began to lead the way.

“Oh, thank you,” Hazel murmured and hurried forward, trying to keep pace with the woman’s long strides.

“No need to thank me. Anything to make our new farmer feel welcome.”

Before long the dirt path opened to a large and wild field. Trees towered above them, and the ground was carpeted with dead plants, yellow weeds, and heavy-looking stones. A modest wooden cabin stood nearby, overlooking the small forest. This truly was the country, Hazel figured. Never in the city would she have to walk through wilderness to reach her destination.

Robin stopped suddenly, and Hazel almost ran into her again. “This is Elysian farm,” the carpenter said, hand sweeping towards the house and field.

“This is… what?” Hazel sputtered. This was woodlands, not a farm. Surely this was a joke?

“What’s the matter?” Robin’s hands rested on her hips, her eyes meeting Hazel’s before flicking back to the field. The carpenter shrugged. “Sure, it’s a bit overgrown, but there’s some good soil underneath that mess! With a little dedication you’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”

Hazel wasn’t so sure about that. The farm was a mess. Half of the field was littered with yellow, crisp-looking plants. Why would the place with supposedly good soil kill half the things that grew in it? The would-be farmer ran a hand through her hair.

Yoba… What had she gotten herself into?

The door from the nearby cabin swung open with a loud thud, interrupting her thoughts. A short older man stepped out and glanced towards the two women, a broad smile blossoming from under his grey handlebar mustache. “Ah, the new farmer!” He scrambled towards them, taking Hazel’s hand with both of his and shaking vigorously. “Welcome, welcome! I’m Lewis, Mayor of Pelican town. I was a friend of your grandfather’s!” He chuckled. “He used to talk about you every chance he got.”

“Nice to meet you, Mayor Lewis,” she returned, letting her hand drop back to her side as the shake ended. A wave of awkwardness hit, as she was unsure of how to respond. Her grandpa had never told her anything about the people in his life. She hadn’t even heard of Lewis until she had begun the process of moving to the small town. Luckily, the mayor continued without pausing.

“You know, everyone’s been asking about you. It’s not every day that someone new moves in. It’s quite a big deal!” Robin nodded in agreement. “I think it’s great you’re moving into your grandfather’s old cottage, too. It’s a good house… very rustic.”

“Rustic?” Robin snorted. “That’s one way to put it. Crusty might be a little more apt, though.” Lewis corrected the woman as she tried to stifle her chuckles, before he began trying to comfort the farmer. He said something about upgrades, then he and the carpenter went back and forth about the benefits of owning a “fixer-upper”. Hazel wasn’t really listening though. She couldn’t shake the same feeling of being watched, and turned her head around to find the source.

“… about that, Hazel?”

“Huh?” She snapped to attention at the sound of her name, looking to both of them in confusion. “Sorry, I, uh…”

Lewis and Robin shared a look. “You must be tired from the long journey,” the mayor said and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You should get some rest.”

Hazel hesitated. She wasn’t tired. She had slept on the way here. But… They were probably right. It was probably nothing, and it had been a long day. She tried to shake the feeling off.

The group said their goodbyes as the sun began to dip beyond the horizon, the trees casting long shadows over the weeds and rocks. As the last of the sunlight began to fade and her escorts made their way back to their own homes, Hazel walked up the steps leading to her porch. Old wood creaked loudly under her boots, and the heavy door groaned as she opened it. She gave one last glance behind her.

“It’s nothing, Hazel,” she said to herself. “It’s nothing.” She stepped into her new home, and shut the door behind her.

* * *

 

**THE WIZARD**

When she arrived, he dreamt of her.

Rasmodius had fallen asleep, suddenly and uncharacteristically, in the middle of making extensive notes on the magical properties of local flora. His eyes had grown heavy halfway through penning a sentence, and slumber had overtaken him before his head had even slumped onto the desk.

Soon after, the dream began.

At first, everything was fuzzy. Colors swirled and objects faded in and out of focus. Then ever so slowly, something took form… A young woman. She was the one clear spot in a colorful fog. This woman was sat in front of him, resting on some invisible seat, and was fast asleep. There was something vaguely familiar about her, as though he was certain he had seen her somewhere before. He noticed that the same heat that retreated from the letter radiated from her body. She must have been the one who agreed to the contract, then. She must have called him here.

Hm. “It seems you have finally arrived,” he spoke to the sleeping woman. How strange that she had been able to bypass his wards. Even stranger that she had called him here at all, only to be greet him with her sleeping form. Was she simply pretending to slumber? Was this perhaps a display of dominance? After all, she must be quite powerful to have brought his consciousness to her. It would not surprise him if this was all some kind of mind game.

The woman stirred. Her head rolled back slightly, and her eyelids fluttered. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. For when she rose from her sleep, so did he.

Rasmodius jolted awake, causing his wide-brimmed black hat to fall to the floor. A paper had stuck to the side of his face, which he gingerly peeled away from his cheek.

He was back in his tower, far away from the magic-induced dream.

That was odd. Very, very odd…

The chair groaned against the ground as Rasmodius stood and looked around the room. The air positively sung with foreign magic, and he could feel whispers of energy swirl around his fingers. He shivered. Otherwise, all appeared to be in its proper place. The protective runes and sigils still seemed functional, though the wizard made a mental note to strengthen them later.

After all, only his own magic was supposed to be allowed through his barriers with his consent. Yet, here it was.

Picking up a small spyglass from a nearby table, Rasmodius made his way to a tall and slender window that overlooked the valley. Most other wizards would head for their crystals or mirrors to view what they wished, but Rasmodius was never terribly good at scrying. Moreover, there was no guarantee this mysterious mage would be able to block his attempts. If this woman was capable of causing such feats of magic while bypassing his protections, he was unsure of what else she was capable of. Of course, her contract would prevent her from doing too much harm, but people seemed to always find ways to bend rules when they wished.

He would have to be careful around her.

The man peered over the valley. Sunset was soon. Rasmodius figured he must have been asleep for a couple of hours, as the tower had begun to cast a long shadow over the forest below. Peering through his spyglass, he could just barely make out a bus pulling into the valley. Someone, no bigger than an ant through the glass, stepped out of the vehicle and towards another figure that waited nearby. Eventually the two walked away from the bus stop and towards the abandoned farm that sat just outside town. As the two stopped in the overgrown field they were joined by a third figure. Rasmodius stifled a dry chuckle at what he supposed was her choice of residence. He supposed it was fitting that she lived there, considering the abode’s last occupant had filled the same role that this new woman would soon be filling.

As the ant-sized figures separated and the new arrival entered the old cabin, Rasmodius sat down his spyglass and moved away from his window. He needed to work.

And so he did. Later that day, as the moon sat high in the night sky and the stars shined down on the valley, the wizard hunched over his protection sigils. He strengthened them, created more, and took every precaution for this unknown and obviously unpredictable new addition to the valley. Nothing worked.

And when the soft dawn rose and painted the sky purple and orange, he was still working. Still failing.

Her magic still sung in the air.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be just a section within a much larger chapter, but I haven't had the time to write recently and still wanted to post! Also wanted to update ya'll on the fact that I might be busy for a while, so I'm not sure how regularly I'll be able to upload... I haven't forgotten about this fic though, and have plans for it in the future! :)

**THE FARMER**

The axe hit the dead wood of the oak tree with a dull thud. Despite the screaming protest of her burning muscles, Hazel tightened her grip on the heft and swung again. And again. On and on she went for what felt like an eternity, until the wood creaked and moaned and the tall tree fell unceremoniously onto a nearby patch of withered weeds.

Hazel’s grip on the heft loosened and she plopped herself down onto the dry, cracked earth below her. Setting the axe aside, she flexed her sore fingers and looked at her hands, which were caked in dirt and heavily callused from the manual labor. The left hand was bandaged across the palm. Running a finger gently over the rough gauze, she took comfort in the lack of blood. Earlier that morning, she had fumbled her scythe while clearing land for crops and somehow managed to cut herself in her panic to grab the tool. The bleeding had stopped, so she hoped she wouldn’t need stitches. She wouldn’t be able to afford the medical fee right now.

Hazel sighed deeply and held her head in her hands. Every part of her ached and her limbs were heavy with exhaustion. Running a farm wasn’t just difficult, it was nightmarish. Half a season had passed since she first arrived in the valley, and she had been nothing but thoroughly unlucky.

The valley seemed so promising when she arrived. Her field was a bit dead, but the trees in the town still shone green in the sun and the air still hung heavy with the smell of pollen and sea water. Rabbits darted from bushes and seagulls patrolled the beach. Everything was lovely.

Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, nothing was lovely.

It began only a few days after her arrival. Crops withered in the field. Water dried in the pail before it even reached her plants. Trees and bushes wasted away over-night. Fish floated to the surface of the lakes and streams and the air became thick with the smell of their rotten flesh. The birds had stopped singing in the trees. It was like the valley was dying.

That wasn’t even the strangest part, though.

The strangest part was that no one else was noticing.

The citizens of Pelican town continued on as if the valley was thriving. The Mayor tended to his garden of wilted flowers every morning. Marnie cared for vacant pens of non-existent cows and sheep. Demetrius mused on the fauna of the empty forest.

Strange behavior was spreading like a plague. The other day, Hazel had run into Leah and was invited to lunch. Leah said she had foraged some tasty salads from forest. But when the two sat down to eat, the young artist had placed two bowls of dried tree leaves and twigs on the table. There was a dead mouse in one of them. Hazel thought it was a sick joke, but before she could say anything Leah stabbed her fork into the inedible mess and brought it to her mouth. She chewed it, and she swallowed.

Hazel had faked illness and ran from Leah’s house as fast as her legs allowed. The farmer didn’t understand what was happening with them all. Everyone seemed so friendly. Most of them still smiled broadly and brightly, despite the world falling apart around them. But the happiness was misplaced. The town was dying, and they refused to see it. It was off-putting.

It was frightening. _They_ were frightening.

“Good morning, farmer!” The voice snapped Hazel out of her recollections, and her hand shot to the axe by her side. Turning to face the direction of the speaker, her eyes met the green of the mayor’s button-up. Lewis strolled down the dirt path to her cabin, carrying a brown cloth sack with both hands.

“Good morning, Mayor Lewis,” Hazel responded after a moment. She stood, slowly and cautiously, but made no motion to move closer to the older man. Her grip on the heft of the axe tightened. “Is there something you need?” Her eyes flicked to the sack he carried, then back to him.

“Well, a new teapot would be nice!” Lewis laughed at his own joke. “Actually, I’m here to drop off the mail. Just running a bit late today. I was a bit, ah… _Indisposed_ this morning.” A visible red flush spread over his cheeks, and he coughed awkwardly.

Hazel grunted a response. Lewis and Marnie obviously had something between them, and Hazel prayed that was what kept him “indisposed” and not something notably more insidious. Nevertheless, she watched the mayor carefully as he reached in the sack and stuffed a single letter into the slot of her mailbox.

“Well I’d love to chat, but I have a few more homes to deliver mail to. Have a good one, farmer!” Lewis began to make his way back down the path.

Hazel hesitated. “Mayor Lewis, wait.”

“Yes?”

She hesitated again. This was a stupid idea. She shouldn’t be talking to them, but her curiosity won out. She needed to be sure they were seeing something different than her. She needed to make sure they weren’t simply ignoring the death of the valley.

“You like to garden, right? What do you think of my crops?” She gestured to the closest field, which was neatly tilled but littered with dead saplings.

Lewis hummed to himself for a moment. “Well, I’m no expert, but I’d say these are looking good! They’re parsnips, right? I’m sure they’ll make a fine meal one day.” He smiled, broadly. “Your grandfather would be proud!”

“What color are they?”

“Pardon me?”

“What color are the plants?”

Lewis paused, visibly confused. The expression faded quickly, however, as understanding flooded his face. “Ah,” he chuckled, knowingly. “You know, I always assumed your grandfather was colorblind! He would ask me questions like this sometimes. I suppose it runs in the family.”

“So, what color are they to you?”

“Green, of course!”

They were not green. They were yellow. A crisp, dead yellow.

“Thank you, Mayor Lewis.” He smiled at her. She did not smile back.

Lewis wished her well again, and bid her goodbye. Hazel waited a few minutes after he had left before making her way to the mailbox.

Some desperate part of her wished she’d find an envelope full of money. Wished that she’d be the winner of some lottery she didn’t remember entering. Hazel had given up everything she owned to move to Pelican Town, and the cost of up keeping the quickly atrophying farm had been a substantial draw on what was left of her finances. And now, as everything died around her and the people walked around in a delusion, she just wanted to run. Run far away, and start anew for the second time. Find another small town, find another job. Another life.

Though she wouldn’t admit it, she knew she couldn’t. She had no money. She had no contacts. She had no phone, had no internet. None of her letters to her father had been met with responses. Pelican Town’s bus had broken, and the bus transit system she took to the town no longer seemed to make stops in the valley.

Hazel was trapped. She wanted to leave the valley, but it was like the valley did not want her to leave.

The farmer opened her mailbox. Inside was one thin, blue envelope with _JOJAMART. Life’s better with Joja!™_ printed on the front. There was no mailing address. There was no return address. There was no stamp.

Suspicion and hope swelled within her in equal measure. This could be her ticket out of here. Perhaps they wanted her back at her job. Even if they didn’t, the fact that she might have gotten a letter from outside the valley was a good start. Still, she held back her hope.

“Yoba help me,” Hazel sighed. She had never been a religious person, but if there was any point in her life she truly needed God it was now. Living in a nightmare town was one thing, but even considering looking to the Joja Corporation for help was truly rock bottom.

She slid a finger under the seal and pulled out the letter.

_Dear current resident,_

_Your local branch of JojaMart welcomes you to the town! Here at the Joja Corporation, we believe everyone is family. Family deserves the best, so we invite you to visit your local JojaMart for high-quality goods at unbeatable prices! We hope to see you there!_

_-Mr. Morris, Manager_

_Pelican Town JojaMart_

Hazel groaned. She was conflicted. On one hand, this was not the one-ticket out of town she was hoping for. On the other, this could be a good first step, even if the idea of having contact with that demon of a corporation made her skin crawl. Maybe she could buy a phone. But would they even sell them? Would she even have service? Could she even afford one?

She played with the idea of stealing the phone. Anything to have some contact with the world outside the valley.

Crumpling the letter up and stuffing it in her bag, Hazel made her way to town.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't had much time to write, so it's a short chapter this time!

**THE FARMER**

“No!" Hazel cried in frustration, earning a short and disinterested look from the exhausted red-headed woman standing at the nearby checkout lane. "You’re not listening to me. I need a prepaid _cell phone_. Not… these things!” Hazel gritted her teeth and gestured down to the multitude of bright blue JojaMart prepaid gift cards that were fanned across the countertop.

From his perch on the other side of his counter, Morris - who had introduced himself the manager of Pelican Town's JojaMart - smiled. His grin was sharp and threatening, all bleached teeth and no gums. “JojaMart is always happy to hear feedback from a customer. Perhaps you would be more interested in our Premium Prepaid Gift Cards? They hold twice the amount of JojaMart redeemable points!”

“No. Seriously, I don’t need a gift card. I need a-”

The dull, lifeless hum of JojaMart was interrupted by a shrill chime, distorted by the store’s cheap speakers. The sound pierced the ears of its listeners, and Hazel winced. Morris smiled on, unmoving. “ _Welcome shoppers,”_ a pre-recorded voice cooed. “ _Thank you for choosing JojaMart! Today, we have a buy ten get one five percent off deal on JojaMart Sugar Blast cereal – now made with real sugar! And don’t forget to ask a sales associate about our-“_

“Look,” Hazel began, not waiting for the announcement to end. She leaned in as close to the manager as she dared in an attempt to be heard over the ear-splitting announcer, which had began to droll on about the importance of buying plastic wrap. Hazel was so close that she could smell the sickeningly sweet cheap cologne Morris used. “I worked for JojaCorp. I know the spiel. It’s not going to work. I came here for one item and I’m not going to buy anything else, no matter what you recommend to me. I. Need. A. _Cellphone_. I couldn’t find any in your store. I just need to know if you have any in the back.”

Morris slid his tinted spectacles down his nose and locked eyes with her. Hazel could have sworn his irises shined crimson under the harsh overhead light, and she figured she would have wilted away under the intensity of his stare if she hadn’t been used to such treatment from her previous job.

“You’re a member of the JojaCorp family?”

“Ex-member. I quit.”

“Ah. I see. What a shame it is that you’ve left our organization! Well, it's like I always say– ‘Once you’re in JojaCorp, you’re always in JojaCorp!’” Morris tented his fingers. “Perhaps we can bring you back into the fold! Would you like to sign up for our rewards progra-“

“ _Cell. Phone._ ” Hazel groaned. “You know what, just forget it.”

Spinning on her heels, the farmer took a few steps towards the automatic door. Relief welled within her at the thought of leaving this damnable store. She would just have to find another way out, she decided. There was nothing for her here.

“Farmer, wait a moment.”

Hazel stopped and looked over her shoulder. Morris stood still as a statue – same unnerving grin, same tented fingers, same blood-red glare. “Unfortunately," Morris continued, "we do not carry cell phones in our stock. However, I do have… connections. JoJaMart provides." Hazel did not move from her spot, but raised an eyebrow. “Though I wouldn’t be able to perform such a feat for _free,_ of course.”

She hesitated. The dull hum of the store had returned. Somewhere in the back, Shane began to noisily restock the shelves.

“How much?”

“No money,” Morris purred. “A favor. That’s all I ask. Now, come.” He beckoned Hazel towards the counter with a crooked finger. “Let’s make a deal.”


	5. Chapter 5

**THE WIZARD**

Around midday, winds from the sea rolled dark and heavy clouds inland, blanketing the blue sky in thick grey. The valley quieted, filled with the wet and grassy smell of an impending thunderstorm. Even inside his tower, Rasmodius could feel the imminent rain – the air brimmed with electricity and anticipation.

The wizard would usually use the changing weather to his advantage. Rainwater was useful in many potions, and the pure energy of thunderbolts charged depleted magical objects much faster than human hands ever could. Yet, Rasmodius was not swayed from his self-appointed vigil. Seated on a well-worn cushioned stool, he watched his cauldron bubble even as his candles failed to fight back the room’s quickly darkening gloom and his eyes strained against the low light.

Eventually, there came a knock at the door. Two knocks. Three knocks.

A moment passed. Rasmodius did not move. Thunder roared in the distance.

“Rasmodius,” a familiar voice behind the door called out, deep and raspy. Another knock. “I know you’re in there.”

The doorknob rattled. Attention still trained on the contents of his cauldron, Rasmodius unceremoniously waved a hand in the direction of the entrance. There was a pop, and door swung open with a loud creak.

A man stepped through the doorway. Tall and broad-shouldered with wild white hair, he cut an imposing figure against the flickering candlelight even in his old age. The giant of a man shut the door behind him with surprising gentleness, before turning his attention to the purple-haired wizard.

“Greetings, Marlon,” Rasmodius spoke plainly into the dark. The wizard paused and hummed thoughtfully to himself, reaching to grab a small leather bag that sat on a messy table beside him. The contents of the pouch – a dark and grainy soot that reeked of coal and burnt tallow - was gingerly poured into the cauldron. Rasmodius stared until the viscous mixture that boiled within turned a dark, muddy brown. He hummed in approval, before finally flicking his eyes to a patiently waiting Marlon. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course,” Marlon answered. In a few large steps, slowed significantly by a notable limp, the older man made his way to a nearby table and lowered himself into a wooden chair with a loud groan of pain. “It’s the weather,” he explained when Rasmodius looked at him with a raised eyebrow and an expression of mild concern. “The bad leg hurts whenever rain’s coming.”

“I may be able to help with your leg, if you’d like. Though impossible to heal, there are ways to ease the pain. Though the issue with your eye is, of course, permanent.”

Marlon waved his hand in the air, dismissing the notion. “It’s alright, Rasmodius. You don’t have to offer every time you see me. Besides, it’s magic that caused this in the first place,” he gently tapped his left leg with one hand and gestured to his eyepatch with another. “I’m... like a walking cautionary tale on not messing with magic.”

“As you wish,” Rasmodius said plainly. “Though I hope I may be able to convince you to involve yourself with the esoteric once more, if only in some small capacity. I find myself in need of assistance.” Marlon stiffened, shadows catching on the wrinkles in his face. “Are you aware of the changes in the valley?”

“I am.” His voice dripped with deadly seriousness. Reaching up behind his head, Marlon gently untied his eyepatch and removed it. In the left socket was not a human eye, but a fairy stone – a deep and endless purple, the stone was smoothed to perfection and glittered slightly in the candlelight. An unusually large iris, gleaming and white as the moon, darted back and forth wildly across the surface of the stone. All the while, Marlon’s human eye stayed trained on Rasmodius. “The Fairy Eye sees the valley as decayed. I was going to meet with you about it, but the monsters in the mine have become… agitated, as of late. I’ve been monitoring them. Since JojaMart began their business in the mountain, many have attempted to… leave.”

“Have any succeeded?”

“No. The runes have held out, despite JojaMart’s meddling. I’m no wizard, though... I don’t know how much longer they’ll last.”

A moment of silence between the two men. Rasmodius stroked his beard as his eyebrows knitted together. Marlon rubbed his thumb against the soft fabric of the eyepatch. Outside the tower, thunder roared. The storm was getting closer.

Marlon broke the silence. “Is this about the new farmer?”

"Yes.”

“Is she… malevolent?”

"I do not know. She agreed to the contract, so her behavior will be restricted either way.” A loud gurgle came from the cauldron, prompting Rasmodius to dip a stone spoon into the mixture. Marlon’s purple eye flicked over to him, staring intensely as the wizard stirred his concoction. After a few moments, Rasmodius pulled the spoon out and set it aside and the purple eye went back to looking wildly around the tower. “As you can see, she has not performed the binding ritual yet, as I have not completed the potion. I am close, however. Nevertheless, the valley should have improved simply for her presence. Something is very wrong. I find myself in need a favor.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“There should be a letter on the table next to you. Please, open it.”

Marlon held the envelope to the light of a nearby candle. “From someone named… Dodona? Ah, the fortune teller from the Stardew Valley Fair.”

“Indeed. She is the most talented diviner I know.”

Marlon opened the envelope. The paper was cool to the touch, and perfumed with a cinnamon and woody incense. Inside was a short letter written in delicate cursive. Marlon read it aloud. _“She will need a sword,_ it says. _”_ He gave a bitter, breathy laugh. “She certainly will, with the mine the way it is.”

“I am willing to pay for her sword, if needed.”

“No need. Consider it a gift.”

The wizard nodded. “You have my gratitude, Marlon. I admit I am hesitant to give the woman a weapon, but Dodona has never been wrong before. I would much appreciate it if you are able to give her the weapon as soon as-“

Rasmodius froze. Suddenly, his body filled with a strange and uncomfortable sensation – he was numb, too warm, and trembling profusely.

“Rasmodius?”

“Something is wrong.”

“I see nothing.”

“There is nothing wrong _here._ ” A pause. “Please, leave me. I must concentrate.”

Without a word, Marlon tied his eyepatch on and slowly made his way to the entrance. He opened and shut the door with the same gentleness as before.

Rasmodius was once again alone.

The wizard closed his eyes, grinding his teeth and concentrating on the strange magic. It was familiar – the same as from the farmer’s contract. His protective sigils had failed again, then. This was certainly not _his_ magic. A sharp inhale, a deep exhale. The wizard willed the magic to explain itself, pushing and prodding at the foreign energy that filled and embraced him. He tugged at the magic, demanding answers, searching for the strings that connected it to the woman it belonged to.

And there he sat, on his worn cushion, his eyes shut. Searching. Eventually, heavy rain poured from the sky and besieged the valley bellow with thick droplets and lightening. Thunder roared from above the tower.

Still, Rasmodius sat. Unmoving.        

           


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! I have a lot going on at the moment, so a good chunk of time might pass between each update. I'm going to try focusing on making shorter chapters like this one so I can post more often, if I can find the time to write.  
> I haven't forgotten about the story, though, even if some time passes between updates! Elysian isn't on hiatus, just updating slowly.

**THE FARMER**  


Spindly bolts of lightning shot across the distant sky, momentarily dyeing the heavy grey clouds with their blueish glow. Hazel paused her hike to watch this dance of electricity, her boots digging into the dry earth below her and kicking up a small plume of dust. She was breathing heavily and covered in a fine mist of sweat, so the unseasonably cool air the coming storm seemed to be blowing in was a welcome respite from what had been an unexpectedly difficult uphill walk. Hazel was still unaccustomed to all the physical labor of farm life – long days sitting stationary at her desk at Joja Corp hadn’t exactly required a high level of physical ability. 

Another lightning bolt flashed. “One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand…” She counted up to ten, before thunder rumbled across the sky. The storm was two miles away, then. The farmer figured she would make it in time – after all, she could already see her destination. 

The problem would be trying to get back in the storm. 

She sighed deeply before continuing her trudge uphill. The hilly forest by Robin’s family’s home was just as horrible looking as the rest of the valley, all dead plants and decomposing animals. Even the salty smell of the ocean the coming storm had brought inland couldn’t cover the overwhelming smell of rot. 

Skeletal branches of mostly-bare trees loomed menacingly above her, and Hazel was reminded of a fairy-tale she had been told when she was little. It was about a princess who ran into cursed woods to escape an evil wizard, only to be scooped up and tangled in the gnarled branches of enchanted trees that wanted to capture the princess and keep her for themselves. Hazel couldn’t remember the ending of the story – as a young girl she could barely sit still long enough to hear the beginning of the tale, as she was always ready to run off at the first chance and play in the small patches of dirt outside her father’s apartment. She wished she had listened now, if only to get the mental image of one of these trees lashing out at her out of her mind. 

Trees didn’t move, of course. She knew that. But the ominous feeling of dread and decay that blanketed the valley the last couple of weeks reminded her way too much of the enchanted forest of her father’s tales, and though she swore she knew better than to be scared by children’s stories she found herself walking just a little bit faster. She had somewhere to be, Hazel justified it to herself. The faster she got to her destination, the better… After all, she had a job to do. 

“I want you to check on our progress in the mines,” Morris had said to her before she left JojaMart, tenting his hands and smiling wickedly as if he were the villain in a bad spy movie. Hazel was suspicious of the whole thing, of course – she didn’t trust anything involving JojaCorp. The corporation wasn’t exactly known for their moral business practices. Still, it was a simple request. A vague request. And, despite the growing knot that was tangling itself deep within the pit of her stomach, a request Hazel was going to accomplish. She needed a phone, after all. She needed a way out of the valley. 

Hazel also wasn’t terribly surprised that the manager didn’t want to go and do whatever checking in on “our” progress entailed on his own. Lightning storm aside, Hazel was pretty sure none of the higher-ups at Joja ever left their precious company-affiliated buildings. They were kind of like opposite vampires, she mused, not able to leave without being told they’re allowed to by their corporate overlords. Hazel snorted at the idea. She wouldn’t be surprised if they burned up in the sunlight, either. 

She was almost at the entrance to the mine. Tentatively, Hazel stepped across a shoddily built wooden walkway that was more a collection random planks than a proper bridge and slowly made her way over the mouth of a large lake. The water was disgusting, totally stagnant and decorated with the floating corpses of dead fish. Hazel held her nose and hurried over to the mines, grateful for any space between her and the foul smelling body of water. 

But when Hazel stepped through the mouth of the cave and immediately felt… wrong. The cave was a bit cooler than the outside, but she was suddenly freezing. Her limbs were overcome with a strange, numb feeling that she had never experienced before. It felt like her skin was made of static, but also as if she was being burned in reverse – like scorched skin going backwards in time. 

The cave began to blur and spin. The sensations were all too new and overwhelming to deal with. Hazel hugged herself tightly and leaned against the hard cave wall, fighting back a wave of nausea. The sensations continued and heightened in intensity. A force seemed to prod and pull at her insides. The force wanted to _know her_ – who she was, what she was, why she had the audacity to be where she was. She felt an accusatory pull of the invisible and numbing chill once again, as if a string attached to some deep and previously untouched part deep inside her being was being tugged. 

This felt entirely different from regular sickness she had ever experienced. It wasn’t a dizzy spell, either. Tears welled in her eyes. What was she going to do? 

She swallowed her fear. There was only one thing she could think of doing, as silly as it sounded in her own mind.

She could fight back. 

Shutting her eyes as tightly as she could and grinding her teeth to stop her them from chattering, she imagined the string. Long and delicate and silvery, it disappeared into the far-away horizon of the darkness of her closed eyes. 

Then, she imagined the string snapping. 

Her body convulsed violently, sending Hazel down onto her hands and knees, scraping the parts of her hands that weren’t bandaged against the rough rock of the cave floor. Nausea rose again, and she vomited. Hazel opened her eyes but she still saw nothing but the string in the darkness, the two broken sides slithering towards each other like snakes eagerly hunting a mouse. They would reach each other, eventually. It was inevitable. It was… 

“Stop!” Her own voice echoed in the cavernous surroundings. She had snapped herself out of it.

She could no longer see the string.

Warmth flooded back into her limbs, and the numbness subsided. Hazel struggled to stand before her wobbling legs demanded she sit and rest. She breathed heavily and her throat burned. Something was definitely wrong. Wrong with the valley, wrong with the mine, wrong with her. Just outside, rain poured down from the sky and thunder roared. Large puddles formed around mouth of the cave. “When did it start raining?” Hazel asked, speaking to no one in particular. She rubbed her face, wiping away the wet of tears she hadn’t realized she had shed. “How long have I been here? Yoba… _What’s happening to me?_ ” 

As she sat, she thought of the trees outside. She thought of the princess, running from evil, only to be trapped again. She thought about how she refused to be that princess. 

With great effort, Hazel pushed herself up. She took in her surroundings. A few feet away was a sign, punctured with stakes by a hole in the ground and a ladder leading into its depths. _JOJACORP OPERATIONS IN PROGRESS_ , the sign read. _NO TRESSPASSING_. 

Hazel was fairly certain it was impossible to trespass on public land, but she shook the thought away. She just needed to check on whatever they were doing, then get out of this Yoba-forsaken town as soon as she could. She crept to the pit, and tested the ladder. It seemed sturdy enough. 

Hazel took a deep breath and lowered herself into the darkness below.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! This was actually supposed to go in the last chapter's update, my bad... >_>  
> I'm not sure if archiveofourown tells people when the author has updated chapters, however... So instead, I fleshed out the section more and decided to upload it as a completely new chapter.

**THE WIZARD**

Rasmodius convulsed, falling off his stool and crashing onto the floor with a loud thud. He caught himself mere seconds before his nose smashed onto the wooden ground, though the palms of his hands burned from the impact. The fall knocked his hat off his head and sent it tumbling into some dark corner of the tower.

Ignoring the dizziness and the nausea, the man crawled over to the table nearest to his cauldron. His hands grasped the edge of the solid and heavy piece of furniture and he slowly, carefully, pulled himself onto his feet. The wizard ran his hands through his usually wild hair, which sweat had dampened and caused to cling to his face. He looked around his tower, dazed and throughly confused. All of the candles had burned down to stubs. Other than the small glow of light coming from the flame under his cauldron, the room was blanketed in an oppressive darkness. A loud crack of thunder rumbled so loudly he felt it in his gut.

Rasmodius didn’t think much about the darkness or of the storm, though. He didn’t think much about his burning hands, or his missing hat, or the spinning room, or his turning stomach. Rasmodius could only focus on a singular thought.

She had broken their connection.

_She had broken their connection._

He had felt it. He had felt her snap the string that linked the two of them. The strangest thing wasn’t even that she had cut the magical connection he had thus far assumed she had created. No, it was the fact that he felt the connection returning. Spindly threads of his magic deep within him writhed and twisted, reaching desperately out into the world to connect back to hers.

They were bound. Stars above, _he was bound to her_.

The wizard swore aloud. He was a fool, an absolute _fool_ , not to have noticed that they had been bound together. Rasmodius had planned to wait. He was going to follow tradition, to bide his time until the farmer came to him to bind her to the valley and let her heal the land. Yet the land still rotted beneath his feet, and the woman that was supposed to save it was now instead bound to _him_.

His sigils had never failed at blocking her magic, then. Now, their magic was intertwined – her energy just as much a part of him as his own.

He was a fool, he repeated to himself. A fool, a fool, an absolute _fool_ not to have noticed.

A mix of fury and fear rose within him. Whatever entity that had bound the two of them together had done it without him noticing, and had presumedly done it without the farmer’s permission, given she had attempted to break their connection.

Tradition be damned. He needed to talk to this woman. Soon.

The wizard stepped into the dark of his tower, moving slowly around unseen furniture until he felt the bookshelf he needed. He groped around the shelves, before finally finding what he sought – a small deck of glossy cards. A gift, from Dodona.

Making his way back to the low light of his cauldron, the wizard cleared space on the nearby table. He never had a talent for divination or revelatory magic, but he needed answers and was willing to try. The cards were backed with elaborate designs of lush forests, which moved and danced in the light from the fire. Leaves shook in a breeze and a rabbit rushed into a bush. The other sides of the cards were completely blank – at least, for the moment.

Rasmodius shuffled the cards the best he could, straining his memory for any magical techniques that could help him. Annoyingly, nothing came to him. He sighed in defeat, hoping instead that the fact that the two of them were bound would make up for his lack of skill in this school of magic. In fact, he would have tried something like this much earlier if he knew the two of them were bound together and that he would not just be relying on his own abilities.

“The farmer,” he said to the deck, trying his best to imagine the face of the woman as he had seen it in the sleep-vision of her he had received when she had first arrived. He flipped over the first card. The farmer’s face beamed back at him, blurry as if in a dream but nonetheless distinctly hers. The colors of her face and hair were soft and flattering, and the gentle arch of her lips bloomed into a smile as she laid her bright and intelligent eyes upon him. The card’s interpretation of the woman was exceedingly flattering, he noted with some level of surprise.

“Where is she,” he asked again, flipping the second card. The card’s result filled him with a cold dread.

The second card showed him the mouth of the mine.

“What will she do there,” he asked a third and final time, and turned over the third card. The image was of the farmer again. An image her pretty face and soft colors, but instead of smiling happily at him she was lying on the cold stone ground of the dark mine. And she was bleeding. Badly. Shadows loomed menacingly over her unmoving body, though the perpetrators themselves lurked just outside the vision the card showed him. A surprised and alarmed grunt escaped him. Something was going to happen to her in the mines – something bad.

Rasmodius had no love for the woman, but he certainly couldn’t get much information from corpse. He left the cards where they were and quickly covered his cauldron. Forgoing wasting time to find his hat somewhere in the dark of the tower, Rasmodius grabbed a heavy cloak that hung near the front door and slung it over his shoulders. It would take him some time to reach the mine. Nevertheless, he was going to try. She needed help, and he needed answers.

Rasmodius swung open his door and stepped into the pouring rain.


	8. Chapter 8

**THE FARMER**

Though she was only a few floors down into the mine, Hazel couldn’t shake the feeling of being swallowed whole by the earth. Endless stone and gloom surrounded her, the monotony only broken by the occasional forgotten lantern or cropping of stalactites and stalagmites that grinned threateningly at her like rows of shark teeth.

Not long after her descent all traces of natural light had been snuffed out by the stale darkness of the damp, cavernous mineshafts. Hazel had only the pale, flickering light of a rusted lantern she had plucked from the cave wall and lit with the last match in the “Stardrop Saloon” branded matchbox she had received from Gus’s bar a week or so after she first arrived. Sad and unsteady, the small flame just barely illuminated a foot around her. The resulting impression of the mine was very oppressive and discombobulating… A labyrinth of sunless earthen corridors.

The fingertips of Hazel’s empty hand brushed against the cool wall of the old mine as she walked – an attempt to keep herself on the correct path in the maze of branching walkways and twisting corridors. She had yet to see any more signage indicating where Joja Corp’s operations might be, and decided instead to take what seemed like the most well-worn path downward. Hazel noted, with some level of confusion, that she saw nothing that suggested any recent human activity –  Joja Corp or otherwise. All lanterns she passed were extinguished with many rusted shut; the path she followed was timeworn but with none of the fresh tracks that suggested recent use.

It was all very spooky, Hazel decided. She was reminded of the haunted house one of the fraternities had put on during her freshman year at university, and caught herself turning the mine’s corners with the same level of trepidation as she had when she was expecting some poorly-costumed senior to jump out at her screaming and backlit by storm of fake fog and strobe lights.

Hazel hoped her current excursion would end better than that experience had. Her then-dormmate, an easily frightened 20-something with a lithe frame and a claw-like grip, had joined her and screamed bloody murder at every jump scare. Hazel, adrenaline pumping, had instinctively reacted to a particularly blood-curdling scream of theirs and punched one of the performers as hard as she could – breaking the nose of the school’s star girdball player with a loud _crack._

She wasn’t allowed back into that haunted house the next Spirit’s Eve.

The famer continued her painfully slow creep around the perimeter of what, from what little she could tell, was a particularly large and cavernous room. She paid special attention to her feet to make sure she did not trip. Constantly feeling the wall, the indents became deeper and more orderly as she walked. Was this part of the mine made by humans, then?

“I should have brought a flashlight,” Hazel mumbled to herself, stepping around a sizeable rock .

 _“…should have brought a flashlight,”_ the cave echoed back to her.

Hazel groaned. The cave groaned back.

The wall she followed kept going and going, never curving into the large room Hazel had first assumed she had entered. Her voice and footsteps lost their echoes. Perhaps she had entered another corridor without noticing? Hazel paused to get her bearings.

Then, she heard something.

A chirping noise. Soft at first, then louder and louder and louder. There was also… A fluttering noise?

“Bats!” Hazel yelped with surprise – the bats outside the cave had all succumbed to rot, how had these survived? She ducked. The farmer barely avoided being hit face-on by the colony, though one brushed against the top of her head. Hazel’s hands shot to her crown, patting down her hair and wiggling her fingers and dropping her lantern in the panic.

The glass of the lantern shattered as it hit the ground, and the flame flittered out of existence.

Hazel gasped, no longer interested in the bat colony that continued their frenzied flight down the shaft. “No!” She dropped to her knees, feeling around the now pitch black corridor for the candle. “No no no no no, come on, _please_ don’t do this to me!” Her hands met glass shards, rusted metal, and a still-warm candle… but no flame.

A noise slipped through her lips, half an aggressive grunt and half a mournful whimper. “Yoba, _please_ …” Hazel ran her hands through her hair. How would she be able to see the path into the mine now? More importantly, _how would she be able to leave?_ Her throat tightened, hysteria threatening to overtake her. She was trapped.

Much, much worse than being blacklisted from a haunted house, then.

“Think, Hazel, think…” She scoured her memory, tearing through every recollection of the few camping trips her father was able to take her on as a child for scraps of pertinent information.

The only memory that floated to mind was of her father. She had been six at the time, maybe seven. The two of them were in her childhood car - a beat-down brown van that was older than Hazel was -  and driving to a campsite. Her father was talking, rambling on and on about forest and camping safety. Hazel had tuned him out, instead staring dreamily at the trees that towered above them. “Are you listening, Hazel?” He had said softly but sternly, ever the epitome of patience. “The wilderness can be a dangerous place – you have to remember to keep calm if anything ever happens to you.”

Hazel had wiggled in her seat laughed it off. The world wasn’t scary to her, yet. Nature was kind and soft, all sugar-sweet flowers and baby animals. Nature wasn’t… like this.

The farmer tore her attention away from the nostalgia of childhood and the comfort of her father’s wrinkled and ever-tired eyes. She breathed deeply, in and out. Calm. Right. She could do calm.

A few seconds passed. “I can do this. I can escape. I’ll just retrace my steps,” she reassured herself, standing and groping the darkness until she found the wall. Eventually feeling out the direction she had been going, she turned around to face path back to the surface. She took a step…

And collided with a stone wall.

“Shit!” Hazel cradled her forehead, which still throbbed from the impact. “Wrong way, then.”

The farmer turned around and went the other way, only to run into yet another wall.

On and on this went, fumbling about for the path she had just taken and finding nothing but dead-ends.

A stream of curses flowed from her mouth. What had happened? A cave-in, maybe? Wouldn’t she have heard it, though?

After what felt like an eternity, Hazel sobbed softly and sat on the hard ground beneath her, forsaking calm and resigning herself to her fate. Thick, hot tears flowed down her cheeks. She was exhausted to her very core. Tired of farm work, tired of nightmare towns, tired of labyrinthine mines, tired of _trying so hard_ and only meeting roadblock after roadblock. “I’m going to die here,” she whimpered, holding herself tight. “I’m going to die in this awful town, in these Yoba-forsaken mines…”

For some time she sat, alone in the endless dark. She sat, and she grieved. She grieved for herself, for the life she left behind and the future the silent cave-in had stolen from her. Hazel wiped away mournful tears, but they just kept coming. “At least I’ll see grandpa again soon,” she mused bitterly. Hazel shuddered. She wasn’t cold, but she held herself even tighter anyways. “What a way to go. All because I can’t light a stupid candle.”

She sighed, the breath barely leaving her lungs before the miraculous happened.

The candle fluttered back to life.

“Ah!” Hazel squawked, scrambling on her hands and knees towards the flame. The light was even brighter than before, the flame dancing wildly on the wick of the candle. “Thank Yoba,” she sobbed.

The lantern was broken beyond use, so she grasped the life-saving candle in her hand instead. Hot wax dripped down the side and burned her skin, but Hazel didn’t care. She could see. That meant that, just maybe, she’d be able to find her way out.

Hazel looked around herself. She stood in an almost box-shaped alcove of rock. There was one exit – a narrow passageway that sloped downward. The path was definitely not the one she had been following… But there were no signs of a cave in. Curiosity welled within her, but Hazel sighed and walked on. Stardew Valley was steeped in strangeness, the least of it being a cave moving around her. All that mattered was finding a way out… Better to not look the gift horse in the mouth.

The path turned and twisted wildly like a writhing snake, reaching desperately out to the womb of the earth. As Hazel descended the once dull and lifeless earthen walls seemed to take on a golden sheen under the swaying glow of the candle. Then suddenly, _sounds._ They faded in and out of existence, just specters of noise – a soft sigh, a whispered curse, the soft beat of drums and the wild melody of a lullaby. Shadows danced to the ghostly cacophony in the corners of her vision, only to disappear when the farmer turned to face them.

Hazel was worried, at first. Worried that she perhaps had hit her head, or eaten tainted food, or been slipped a hallucinogen… But the worry soon faded as the hypnotic and narcotic effect of the sensations blanketed her with calm. The back of her mind buzzed – she was welcome here, this wass where she belonged, this is where she was _supposed to be._ Come deeper, deeper into the earth. Deeper and deeper and deeper and…

“Where am I?”

A room of stone. Glittering, golden stone, shining brighter than the midday sun. Hazel’s eyes burned, but she could not look away. And then, doors. How many doors? At first look, one, then two. Hazel blinked and there were ten of them – blinked again, and there were three. Shining, organic doors of glimmering metals draped in blossoms of jewels. On them, marks – sigils of bright colors, pulsating and squirming under Hazel’s gaze.

She blinked. Two doors. Another blink. One door. She blinked and blinked and blinked and the singular door yet stayed, tall and glistening and audaciously acting as if it had always been just a few steps in front of the woman. The buzzing in her brain grew. The door was for her, she knew – but not at that moment, not yet. The door was being saved for her, for her future. The door that opened the way to the womb of the earth was waiting.

For a moment Hazel forgot how to move, her mind deafened by the buzzing. Then, with great effort, she willed herself forward. One step, then two. Towards the door.

No doorknob. She put her hands on the metal – the sensation simultaneously intensely cold and fiercely hot. Hazel pushed and leaned. The door needed to open. There was no other way, no other doors. The door would wait for her but she would not wait for the door. She pushed and willed and finally…

The door disappeared.

Hazel stumbled, pressing her whole body against a door that no longer existed. When she finally righted herself, she looked up. In front of her, a humanoid shape sitting on a strange metal throne. They were covered head to toe in fine embellished cloth and gems that danced in the light, bedecked in fragrant flowers twisted together into crowns and bracelets.

The farmer stepped closer. She spoke to the person, a cautious but hopeful hello. No answer other than the whispers that flickered in and out just beyond her understanding. A foot away, then half a foot, and then, finally, she realized why she had received no answer.

Closed eyes, sunken cheeks, no breath… The person was dead.

Hazel screamed, stumbling backwards and into the sunken, robed form of yet another human body. There were more of them, she realized – dozens of them. They ranged in age, babies to the elderly, but each was dressed carefully in crowns of dried plants and fine jewelry as if they were monarchs of the forests. The room itself seemed to continue into an eternity, decorated with these bedazzled corpses.

Eventually, Hazel’s scream died in her throat. Yet the air sung with whispers, and the buzzing remained.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience, as well as for your kind words! While I might not reply to all of them, I do read all of the comments and take your feedback to heart. I appreciate it!
> 
> Also, when I tagged this fic "slow burn"... I truly meant it. The two of them will meet face-to-face eventually, I swear! Perhaps in a chapter or two... ;)

**THE WIZARD**

Rasmodius had barely reached the crest of the hill when he felt the protections break.

Besides the rain, all had been still. The rotted muck of the small lake near the mines floated, totally stagnant except for the occasional bubbling of some yet-identified and noxious smelling gasses. The valley was deathly quiet save for the rattle of rain on tree bark; void of all of the bustle of life of the animals that usually filled the air with their twittering nature song. The only new sounds came from and died around him - the sharp cracks and soft rustles of his boots on underbrush, the labored heaving of his own breath.

Then, everything rippled.

Though he did not see a change, he _felt_ it. A punch of cold dread seeped into his bones. A pain, sharp and quick like a ripped-off bandage, punctured his gut. The protective sigils had been in the valley long before the wizard had. They were so familiar he had become blind to them, used as he was to the way their soft energies floated in the air.

But then, suddenly and violently, they were there no longer… and the valley felt emptier than ever before.

He instantly felt very exposed, as if the world were far too open, like the sky could swallow him up if it wished and he could do nothing to prevent it. The man looked into the expanse of swirling grey above him for just a moment – the gnarled and bare branches of the forest’s trees were dark against the sky, their twisting bark sharp and jagged as a predator’s teeth as they stretched chaotically around themselves like greedy hands that were ready to snatch and steal whatever they desired. Rain drops ran down his face and into his eyes. The wizard did not flinch.

The sky would not swallow him up, then… But the man had some idea of what the protections had been protecting, and they would certainly relish the opportunity to do as they wished to his fleshy human form. Where the sky hesitated, the beasts would not.

Rasmodius swore and began to run towards the mine, pushing away dried-up plants and willing himself to ignore the way the tree branches whipped his cheeks raw in his haste. His boots slipped in the mud, and his lungs burned. He was unaccustomed to physical activities of any sort, but this was an emergency.

Throwing aside any previous caution, the wizard skidded onto the dirt footpath leading towards the mine and continued his sprint. Rasmodius had stayed away from the officially sanctioned trails and not-so-officially-sanctioned desire paths of the town. That in and of itself was not unusual for him – the man had gone days and weeks without talking to people before, and he was not one for flaunting his magical power to mundane folks.

This time, however, a sense of danger pressed especially heavy on his mind – there was something wrong with the townsfolk as well. He had seen them in the distance, seen their strange demeaner. Despite the horrid weather the townspeople wandered about as if they lived in paradise, minds hazy and seemingly blissfully unaware of the rot that permeated through their gardens and into their homes. Because of this he had taken even more obscure roads than usual, avoiding townsfolk with the all the skill and grace of a life-long introvert by weaving through trees and hurrying over empty rabbit dens to avoid the magic-fogged eyes of his fellow humans.

The rain poured harder as he ran, and though his eyes struggled to see more than a few feet in front of himself with any clarity he was able to make out a figure a short distance away. Tall and broad, the figure had a mop of wet grey hair and a heavy limp.

Rasmodius called out as loud as his burning lungs allowed. “Marlon!” The man did not turn. In his distraction, Rasmodius slipped in the mud – splattering the cool, mushy earth all over his hands and knees. “ _Marlon!”_ He tried again, pushing himself off of the ground and sprinting again towards the older man.

Blessedly, Marlon turned.

“Rasmodius?!” The man half-yelled his reply in his obvious surprise and confusion. The wizard found this entirely understandable given he supposed he must have looked quiet the mess – thoroughly drenched and face covered in a dozen small cuts, wheezing terribly and clothing painted in mud.

“The protections,” Rasmodius spat, barely able to push the words out of his blistering lungs. He was unusually curt, even more so than was common for him. It was not the time for pleasantries.

“The protections…?” Marlon tugged off his eyepatch. His fairy stone eye shook in his eye socket, and Marlon gritted his teeth as it rattled violently against his own skull. Then it flicked about before settling down and staring, intense and unmoving, at the mouth of the cave. Marlon cursed, low and bitterly. “The protections,” he spoke in a hushed panic as understanding settled in.

“The farmer. She is in the mines.” Rasmodius began speed walking towards the mine entrance.

“Could she have-”

“I do not know.”  Within seconds Rasmodius stood at the mouth of the mines, then turned to face his companion. “Do not follow me,” he began, voice full of all of the authority he could muster. “Arm yourself. Wait by the entrance of the cave. If I have not returned by next morning’s light…” He swallowed. “…block the entrance to the cave.”

Marlon’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Block it?”

“Yes. I cannot guarantee what creatures will try to escape.” Rasmodius paused for just a moment. The implication of his request - no, his command - were not lost on either of the men. “The lives of many outweigh the life of one,” he spoke into the rain, trying to convince himself as much as Marlon. Rasmodius considered himself a relatively brave person but even he feared death, though he loathed to admit it.

Marlon’s face hardened and he nodded. The grey-haired man had lived a long life, filled with more adventure and daring-do than most non-magical mortals could ever hope for… He of all people, Rasmodius figured, would understand the danger of beasts that needed to be so thoroughly guarded by ancient magics. Still, there was a sadness to him… a mournful glint in his one human eye, a shrinking of his shoulders. Before him stood a man accustomed to grief, accustomed to losing friends and comrades to the call of battle. Rasmodius had very few friends, and would be flattered by his kindness in any other scenario. But the wizard had no time for kindness at that moment… no time for sentimentality or weakness. Kindness was a reason to doubt, a reason to think of what one wished not to leave behind in their own absence.

Kindness stopped people from hunting down their possibly evil-minded peers.

Kindness stopped people from saving towns from monsters.

Kindness killed.

Perhaps noticing the other man’s demeaner, Marlon said no good-byes and wished him no safe journeys. He simply reached into a hidden pocket and stepped forward, pressing a cold piece of metal into the wizard’s still ink-stained hands. “This was a gift from Gil,” he explained simply. “It’s kept me safe.”

Even in the near-blinding rain, Rasmodius knew what this was. Small but heavy, the silvery trinket was carved in swirling runes more detailed than any mortal could fathom, let alone create. Just looking at the thing made him a bit dizzy. There were remnants of magic on the medallion as well, useless and faded but still detectable – like an old-stain on an article of  well-loved clothing. It was old magic. Fae magic.

Rasmodius bit the inside of his cheek. The wizard knew a little of what had happened to Marlon and Gil. He did not know their entire story as he figured it was none of his business and did not wish to pry, but he knew some… bits and pieces that slipped out when one or both of the pair were particularly drunk and babbled on before Rasmodius could stop them.

Theirs was a classic story of youth and folly and star-crossed romance – a human and a fae falling in love. Most people would find it terribly romantic, but Rasmodius could not help but find it tragically sad. Love conquered all in the end, perhaps, but not without ravaging the lives of all it touched… A non-magical mortal, injured and cursed with an eye that saw more than he was ever supposed to, and a fae, stripped from his magic and thrown into the plane of the mortals to age and rot and die.

Still, they seemed happy. Married. In love.

Rasmodius fought back a scoff at his own bitterness. While an accomplished wizard, _that_ particular area of his life had been filled only with tragedy after tragedy. Perhaps the two men’s story was simply a bit too close to home for own comfort.

“Thank you,” the wizard said simply, avoiding his companion’s eyes. He had no time for pleasantries of “ _are you sure”_ s and “ _no,_ I _couldn’t possibly”_ s, so he just slipped the dead charm into a deep pocket and turned back to face the cave’s mouth.

He thought he heard Marlon say something as he stepped out of the rain and into the cool, damp cave, but Rasmodius did not turn around. He just groped the stone walls for a lantern and lit it with a modern lighter he had tucked away safely and dryly in a pouch by his waist. A simple fire spell would work, he presumed, but Rasmodius was a traditional and a ritual-focused magic user. He had neither the time nor the certainty needed to chant the spell and draw symbols into the dirt or find the necessary herbs that he cursed himself for not having the forethought to bring.

With his light source secured, Rasmodius gritted his teeth and walked to a manhole nearby. He did his best to knock the wet from his boots, then descended into the oppressive darkness below.


End file.
